Pancakes
by insaneular
Summary: Puck wakes up not having much recollection of the night before except a pounding headache and a little embarrassment. He's startled to find that he has company for breakfast.


**A/N**: Previously posted on LiveJournal; moved here for convenience. Based on an anonymous prompt on tumblr.

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><p>Puck is awoken by a thud and a yelp. He finds himself sprawled on his back on his living room floor, shirtless, with a blanket thrown over him. It requires immense effort for him to sit up, and once he does, his head starts throbbing furiously. He plants his hand on the ground next to him for support, and it nudges against an empty bottle, causing it to roll a few inches before hitting the leg of the couch with a <em>clink<em>.

He's trying to muster the energy to fully stand up, and just as he moves his left leg to place his foot on the ground, he realizes he has no bottoms on either. Crap.

Bunching the blanket around his waist, he scans the room, and spots his Pokèmon boxers on top of the lamp. He stumbles over to grab them, almost tripping over an empty Pringles can, and hastily drops the blanket and starts putting them on. Unfortunately, his motor skills are not at the top of their game at the moment, and he has a bit of trouble getting his legs in the right holes.

He only has the shorts halfway on when Brittany appears in the doorway to the kitchen and consequently gets a nice view of his bare ass.

Though he's not ashamed of showing off his body, and it's not like Britt has never seen him pantsless before, the circumstances are a bit more embarrassing this time so he quickly hops and tugs on the waistband of the boxers to pull them on properly.

He stands straight and turns to face her, choosing to act as if it didn't happen. However, Brittany doesn't even seem fazed by it, and just asks him, "Where do you keep the broom? I spilled some flour."

"Uh, in the corner next to the fridge," mumbles Puck. Only after she nods and returns to the kitchen does he wonder why the hell she is making something with flour at his house.

Things are complicated by the fact that he can barely remember what happened the previous night; all he knows is that he invited some of the peeps over to get trashed since his mom and sister were out visiting his Nana in New Jersey. Usually, he has at least a decent capacity to retain his memory after a hangover, so he must have drank a shit ton of liquor for the night to be completely blurred out.

He trudges into the kitchen, where he finds Brittany staring intently at one of his mom's cookbooks and peeling a potato. She's wearing the bright white apron that his mom bought years ago but only wears once a year at the most. A sack of flour, the saltshaker, and a bottle of canola oil are sitting on the counter next to one of the big glass bowls, into which the discarded potato peels are falling.

"Um... what are you making?" he asks tentatively.

"Pancakes," she says, then looks up and makes eye contact. "My mom always makes pancakes for me when I get hungover."

His brain is chugging along slowly, stabbing with pain all the while, and he's trying to figure out what she's doing with the taters. "Can I see that recipe, Britt?"

"Sure." she steps aside, allowing him to peer at the book. _Potato Pancakes – Just like __Bubbe's_ is written in bold black letters at the top of the page.

"Britt, _latkes_ aren't meant to be for breakfast."

She frowns, and her forehead creases–Puck notices that she's got some flour dusted on her face. "It was the only recipe for pancakes I could find." Sighing, she sits down on the tiled floor, leaning against the cabinets. "Why does breakfast have to be so confusing?" she moans. "I thought I was getting the hang of the recipe, at least."

She's on the verge of tears all of a sudden and while Puck doesn't know why this means so much to her, he hates seeing Britt of all people sad because she's usually so damn happy all the time. "Wait, don't get down about it," he consoles her. "They're still delicious any time of day. Please finish making them... I'll help you."

She smiles slightly and takes his hand when he offers it to her; he's so tired he gets winded just from pulling her up.

He grabs the peeler and starts skinning the next potato. "Do you remember anything that happened last night?" he questioned. "And do you have any idea why I was naked but did not wake up with a chick on top of me?"

"You were trying to convince Santana to have sex with you but she didn't want to. Then you took your clothes off and she made a gagging noise like when my cat Charity has a hairball and she went home." Britt played with a wooden spoon that was lying on the counter. "Mike, Tina, and Sam didn't seem to mind though... they all stayed the night."

Right. That did sound familiar...

_"Come on, you loved fucking me before," he drawled, placing an arm on Santana's shoulder._

_ "Were you not listening when I told you I was a lesbian, Puckerman?" She recoiled from his touch._

_ "You were a lesbian before, weren't you? But you still slept with me." He failed to see the issue. "Do you need a little reminder of the Puckasaurus?" He began undoing his belt buckle._

_ "I think I speak for everyone when I say that I really, really don't."_

Man... that was not his best moment. Santana would be P-O'd at him on monday, but he'd deal with that then. He decided to change the subject. "Why are you still hanging out here, anyway?"

"Well, everybody else had to go, but you were still asleep and I thought you would probably be sad after last night and I didn't want you to be lonely when you woke up."

Puck hesitates for a moment, then resumes the regular motion of the peeler in his hand. "Why would I be sad?"

Brittany tilts her head to the side. "All that stuff you told us. About Finn and and Beth and all that stuff..."

His eyes widened and he had to pull out a chair from the table and sit down as pieces of the conversation slowly come together in his memory.

_"So Rachel and Finn are back together for good now, huh?" Sam had said._

_ "Seems like it," Tina declared. "But probably only until he decides he wants Quinn again."_

_ Puck made a loud, strangled yell that was supposed to sound exasperated but sounded more like someone had kneed him in the balls. It produced a tiny loogie that fell back onto his face after it was expelled since he was lying flat on the ground._

_ "Are you okay?" Mike asked him._

_ "No." He abruptly swung into a sitting position. "Not as long as she–both of them–keep on going back to him. He never treats them right!"_

_ "Calm down," Sam murmured. "What does it matter to you?"_

_ "They always go back to him because he's Finn fuckin' Hudson," Puck continued. "He's a motherfuckin' hero. What girl wouldn't want him?"_

_ Mike shifted uneasily. "Dude, that's your best friend you're talking about."_

_ "Yeah, he used to be."_

_ "Used to...?" Tina asked hesitantly._

_ "I don't even fuckin' know anymore." His hand fumbled around on its own until it found the half-empty beer bottle next to him and he took a long swig. "I'm just sick of people thinkin' he's the golden boy and the sun shines out of his ass."_

_ "Someone sounds jealous," Santana laughed. "You wanna be the sunny-ass golden boy?"_

_ "Hell no. But it would be nice if for once someone realized that I can do shit too. Half of the stuff he gets credit for was my doing anyway."_

_ "Like what?" Brittany said. It wasn't in a mocking tone, but rather encouraging him to elaborate._

_ "I'm the one who got the twelfth member for sectionals while he was too busy having relationship counseling. I saved the damn championship game while he was preoccupied with going to 'bring Quinn back to the light side' just so he could get into her pants."_

_ "Hey, us too," Santana protested. Britt put a finger to her lips and shushed her._

_ "And all the time I was trying to be a good dad for _my_ baby, Quinn was still too fuckin' ashamed to admit that it was mine." Puck gritted his teeth. "And he got the credit and the sympathy for that along with everything else."_

_ Everyone seemed to be stunned into silence after that display; Puck decided to take that as a sign to continue._

_ "We were really close buddies in grade school. We both knew what it was like to lose a dad. But now I guess that he's got a new dad, he's changed... and not the guy I used to be friends with."_

_ "That's not really fair," Mike said uneasily. "None of those things are his fault."_

_ "Yeah, maybe not, but that doesn't change the fact that he's got everything and I end up with nothing. He's got the girl–or should I say girls? He's got the constant adoration from everyone. He's got a great new dad. What do I have? Well, as of this year, I have a criminal record, no dad, and no baby."_

_ "I don't have a baby either, dude," Sam offered in a vain effort at cheering him up._

_ "I just want to see my daughter," Puck sniffed, starting to let out drunken sobs that would make Santana proud._

_ Tina reached out a hand and patted his shoulder. "It's okay. Let it out," she murmured._

_ "I'm so damn alone."_

_ "No you're not," Britt corrected. "We're here."_

"Oh man," Puck moans, letting his forehead fall onto the table. "I can't believe I blubbered like that to you guys like a dumb chick flick."

Brittany steps over to him and casually rubs his head, mussing up his 'hawk. "It was good for you," she states simply.

He stands up again and returns to the counter, grabbing the cheese grater from the cabinet on the way so he can grate the potatoes to shreds as Brittany peels them. "You really didn't have to do this," he tells her.

"I know," she answers. "But I thought it would be nice. You said you didn't want to be alone."

"I never said it wasn't nice. It is." He taps the grater on the edge of the bowl to dislodge some bits of potato that are sticking to it. "Thanks, Britt."

She answers by handing him another potato. They continue to work in silence, and before long, they've got a big bowl of potato, flour, egg, and a little bit of salt, ready to be made into _latkes_. Puck grabs the skillet from its cabinet and lights the stove. The oil sizzles mouthwateringly as he pours it onto the pan, and he begins to form cakes of the potato mixture and slaps them on the skillet. It's tougher than his mom makes it look; a few of them fall apart instantly, but he gets the hang of it by the third or fourth time and soon there are several _latkes_ in the works.

"Wanna flip them?" he offers the spatula to Brittany. She grins and grabs it excitedly, but she is a bit too enthusiastic and the pancake ends up flying into the air and landing in the sink. "That's okay, try another," he encourages her, plopping another spoonful of mix onto the pan. The second time she is more careful and manages to flip the latke successfully, and it sizzles happily, showing off its browned side.

Fifteen minutes and three flying cakes later, they've got a heaping plate of savory, oily, unhealty-but-worth-it homemade _latkes_.

"Ready to dig in?" Puck asks, grabbing two place settings and haphazardly arranging them on the small kitchen table.

"Just a minute." Brittany skips over to the fridge and returns holding a Mrs. Butterworth bottle. "You can't have pancakes without maple syrup!"

Puck shrugs and sits down, loading his plate. He grabs the bottle and squirts a healthy serving of syrup over his latkes. _Why not?_ He hesitantly takes a bite of the strange combination and is astounded when it's absolutely _delicious_. "Britt, you're a genius!" he exclaims around a mouthful of potato.

"No I'm not," she answers, popping a bite of her own pancake into her mouth. "But if you tell me your three wishes I'll see what I can do."

Puck's heart pounds, causing his head to do the same, but he doesn't think it's just from the hangover this time. "Well my first wish is that we can do this again sometime, because you make a mean batch of breakfast-_latkes_."

Britt nods casually. "That's my wish too. Are _you_ a genius?"

Puck can't help it, a huge grin spreads across his face. It's the happiest he can recall feeling since he and Lauren broke up.

"My second wish," he says, letting out a laugh, he can't help it, "is..." he leans in and gently pushes his lips against hers. She begins to kiss him back, with more passion than he'd expected. Her lips taste like syrup and Bazooka bubblegum–he has no idea where that one came from.

As he pulls away, he waits to see how she'll react. As odd as it may be considering they've slept together several times, Puck thinks this is the first time they've shared a kiss. On the lips, anyway.

"That wasn't my second wish," Britt mumbles. "But now I think I know my third..." her hand inches across the table, fingers tapping idly. "It's too bad you're not a genius or you could make it come true."

"Tell me," Puck stretches out his own arm, fingers lightly resting on Britt's. "And I'll see what I can do."


End file.
